What falls away is always. And is near.
The doe pressed by fear at cliff edge.
The parachutist who plummets through cloud,
tiny glittering crystals adhere like insects,
dampening her suit and helmet.
Love is hard and away. Being young
and too close to his mother, it was necessity.
The next one, watch her. Falling like float,
the slight whir as she parts the air, her strong
wing bones fanned out, her arm crooked
to push hair from her mouth open without scream--
straight from heaven to earth. I follow
at night as I sleep without landing, my arms
akimbo, hands at my crown, mouth wide.
I’m without voice. See the knobby scars
where the wings once grew as spindles.